


Pixie Swallow: Welcome to the Table

by d__T



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [19]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, I have and I will tell it to you with POV switches and exposition, Worldbuilding, cannibalism mention, ever wonder how the blood drive actually works?, trucks with names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-03-06
Packaged: 2019-03-27 16:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13884936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Rasher is shorthanded after the raid on the diner.Indigo shows the new guy around.





	1. Good Morning, Shitheads

Rend wakes with rapidly fracturing dreams of that delicious  _ delicious  _ burger interspersed with running, disturbed by some asshole yelling in the courtyard. 

“Driver’s meeting!”

Grumpily, he crawls out of bed and peers out through the ratty blinds. The stick insect of a human is down in the courtyard with a bullhorn, yelling up at the motel rooms.

“Rise and shine, shitheads! Get your bonus waypoints here! Driver’s meeting!”

That’s not for him, but sleep is out of the question now what with the yelling. And, damn, the diner does not look like it’s open for breakfast- the brawl that he snuck out around last night left a blast radius of mangled corpses around the diner. Guess he’ll have to cut his own meat.

But first, a shower. Luxury is not to be denied- the Death Valley War Boy compound has to truck water in and it’s a point of pride to take care of your car before you do anything for yourself. And while he would die for that Chevelle, the remains of his war paint have got to go before he gets back out into the world.


	2. Elevator Pitch

It’s day three on the road and they’re already shortstaffed. The unscheduled stop at Pixie Swallow had been a fucking  _ mistake _ . Rasher hisses to himself about  _ fucking Heart pulling our fucking strings _ before tallying up his remaining roadies on his fingers once more and coming up unacceptably short. He’s  _ told them _ to not trust anything, but even he’d been sucked in by the allure of a hot meal and a break and then. Cannibal hillbilly truck gang in a place that doesn’t even have  _ hills _ . 

He lost too many to that bullshit and he’s still gotta manage attrition through the next seven days of filming. He stomps around in a small circle and then pulls it together before heading around the truck to check on the progress.

Everyone’s doing their jobs (and someone else’s, too) but motion on the far side of the lot catches his eye. A brawny lad is inspecting a strikingly clean Chevelle, and Rasher thinks he would remember seeing that in the lot last night except he was heavily involved in debriefing Slink from the surprise jaunt to Heart and then cannibal hillbilly truck gang. At least everyone had fuel this morning, with enough left over to top off the trucks.

The lad turns around, spots Rasher watching him, and grimaces. It’s an ugly look- half suspicion and half missing right eye. Rasher smiles at him, deliberately pleasant. 

The grimace returns and then the guy stalks towards him.

“Nice Chevelle.” Rasher says when the guy gets close enough.

“Uh. Thanks.” The guy rasps out.

Rasher looks him up and down, noting both the big knife prominently displayed in a belt sheath and the heavy scarring on his right arm. “What’s your name and what can I do for you?”

“Rend.” The guy says, and then stops short like he’s surprised at his own bluntness. “Hire me.”

Rasher snorts. “Why?”

“I’m really good at fixing cars. And violence.” The guy narrows his eye. “You look shorthanded.”

“Last night was a mess.” Rasher says, glossing entirely over how well fed he’s feeling right now. “Have you worked on a blood engine before?”

Death cults like death machines, and there’s bootleg engines copied from motors pulled from wrecks by entrepreneurial and utterly reckless folks on the market. Rend’s worked on a couple of the bootlegs. “Sure.”

Rasher gestures at the Chevelle. “That a gasser?”

Rend nods.

Rasher wrinkles his nose. “Rend, you’re hired but you’re on your own for fuel for that monster.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That sweet, sweet world building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is [Betty](http://www.carsbase.com/photo/Peterbilt-359_mp673_pic_42134.jpg).

Indigo is taking a pre departure snooze on the hood of his truck while everyone else left scurries around below. The morning is clear and crisp and shaping up to be a blistering afternoon. So he’s enjoying warm sun and cool steel while he can.

“Oi, Indigo!”

Or not. He rolls over just enough to stick his head over the edge of the hood and see who knows he’s up here well enough to yell for him instead of looking in the truck first. It’s Rasher, damn him, flanked by some fucked up beefy looking guy.

Indigo tucks a bunch of loose hair behind his ear and peers down at them. “Ay, Road Boss. Whassup?”

Rasher squints. “Ain’t you got shit to be doing?”

“Hitched, fed, and cleaned.” Indigo says as he sits up and pats the hood beside him. There’s the faint sound of the caged engine below opening and closing like it’ll get fed again. “Betty’s all ready to go and I’m just waiting for the rest of you.”

“Hmph. Well, since you’re not doing anything, you get to show Rend around. Be nice, he’s new here.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Being generally useful, unlike you, dumbass.” Rasher smirks before he walks away.

“Well, _hell_ .” Indigo stares down at Rend. Sometimes he hates that his only identifying feature is that he’s the only Asian still left alive on this shitshow, and that’s probably only due to the diagonal scar across his face raising his intimidation level. Not enough to play with _this_ , damn. “Hi, I’m Indigo. Let’s, uh, let’s do this thing.”

Rend just kind of glares at him as he awkwardly slithers down the side of the truck. Indigo can’t tell if it’s the way he is, or the eye situation, or what.

“Right, okay. This is my truck Betty. We haul-” He wiggles a hand- “half the stage around. The other half is over there with Bartholomew. We didn’t set up last night because unexpected detour and also cannibal hillbilly truck gang. Delicious. C’mon.”

He leads the way through the scattered camp, pointing out vehicles, jobs, and people as he goes. Rend seems to be paying attention but he also keeps snatching glances at a shiny Chevelle parked outside the edge of camp, and Indigo can’t help but notice.

“That yours?”

Rend grins proudly. “Stole her out of Death Valley!”

“Shee-it.” Indigo whistles. “Didn’t a big fucking storm go through there recently?”

Rend gestures smugly at the entire right half of his body. “I got nailed by lighting in it, yeah. Fucked me up pretty good.”

“Fuck, I’ll bet. Okay, I was gonna show you the roadie trailer, but I bet you’re gonna sleep with her?” Indigo tips his head at the Chevelle.

Rend nods.

“You should hang out with the other roadies anyway. Pack bond keeps you alive around here.” Indigo winks. “Come on in, we got haphazardly strung hammocks, tiny refrigerators, a gambling ring, and a complete lack of privacy.”

True to his word, the interior of the trailer is hung with haphazardly located hammocks at a wide variety of heights with the concentration of them at one end. The other end, near the normal double doors, there’s a table and chairs and some equally organically grown looking lights. Indigo gestures vaguely around. “Most of the roadies sleep in here. Lucius and Bjorn split between here ‘n their Firebird depending on their _mood_. Me’n Skorpion- she drives Bartholomew- sleep in our trucks mostly ‘cause of that sweet sweet roadie stank free air.”

Rend smiles wryly at that but doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” Indigo remarks, leaning enough on the rhetorical tone to let Rend know that he doesn't need to reply to that either. “You should still play cards with the rest of us sometimes. A friend or three will greatly improve your chances of surviving this, no matter how fucking weird you are.”

Indigo looks at him seriously, and then punches him gently on the shoulder, startling him. “You’ve got me whether you like it or not- Rasher assigned me to you ‘cause I’m currently trainee free.”

“Yeah.” Indigo says softly like he’s thinking about something else for a moment before he abruptly leads them back outside. “Looks like we’re about to roll out. Stick with the convoy. Don’t get fucking lost until you get outfitted with a tracker. If you need anything, roll up beside Betty and I’ll help you out.”

“Oh. And don't fuck around. Rasher’ll eat you.”


End file.
